


Move Me

by despommes



Series: Moonbringer [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Men Get Pegged, Oral Sex, Pegging, Smut, i don't know what to tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despommes/pseuds/despommes
Summary: It is a coveted secret amongst select few that the Crystal Exarch is in possession of an exceptionally lovely singing voice. Fewer still have had the privilege of actually hearing the man perform, shy as he is. A passerby might be lucky enough to catch a fragment of his song, and the Exarch knows many songs. Songs from the First and the Source alike, those he was raised up knowing and more he has learned through a century of life. Ballads and tavern shanties, lullabies and love songs, all given life and color by the grace of his lips.





	Move Me

**Author's Note:**

> I talked about writing this on tumblr and I'm sorry it took so long... ADHD be like that though! And yeah, I titled it after the Hozier song about pegging. What about it?
> 
> This revolves around my SMN Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te, Artemesia Andromeda and follows my previous stories, A Timeless Lullaby, Downpour, and Cauchemar. If you'd like to see a picture of her I have some [here](https://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com/tagged/artemesia+andromeda).
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!

It is a coveted secret amongst select few that the Crystal Exarch is in possession of an exceptionally lovely singing voice. Fewer still have had the privilege of actually hearing the man perform, shy as he is. He often hums idly to himself, soft notes gentle to the ears as he goes about his day. It is almost second nature, as though he does not even realize the music that escapes him. Only when he feels he is alone will he lift his voice enough to truly sing. A passerby might be lucky enough to catch a fragment of his song, and the Exarch knows _ many _songs. Songs from the First and the Source alike, those he was raised up knowing and more he has learned through a century of life. Ballads and tavern shanties, lullabies and love songs, all given life and color by the grace of his lips.

Hydaelen’s chosen herself only ever happened upon this knowledge by chance, long before he donned his hood and took up his title of Exarch. Back when he had been simply G’raha Tia, and they had simply been colleagues in the pursuit of history. He’d thought he was alone in some tucked away corner in North Silvertear where, unbeknownst to him, she had been hiding. The music wavered unbidden from his throat, a playful tune on the humors of whiskey. The lilting notes brought a smile to her face as she watched him in secret. When he was finished, she clapped for him and oh did that startle him something fierce. He had pouted at her, nose in the air, and stormed away in a huff. He didn’t speak to her for days and, not for the first time, she had thought him a brat.

These days however, they are no longer simply colleagues. His inspiration, he loved to call her, and perhaps that was why he sang so freely for her ears alone. And did she love to hear him sing. She loved it in the quiet of restless nights spent curled in his arms. Dawn-drenched mornings preparing breakfast side by side. Lazy afternoons wading through the waters of Lakeland. He had a song for every occasion, and she adored each one.

Never did he sing a sweeter song, though, than he did in the throes of pleasure. Oh, how she loved to hear him, every sigh, moan, and sob as she methodically coaxed them from his lips. She drank them down like wine as they spilled forth, like her throat was parched and his voice her only succor. His warrior was ever eager for new sounds to discover, new ways to make him sing.

The toy was rather plain in appearance. Made of thick, sturdy glass, it was phallic in shape but otherwise unremarkable, and with it came a soft, leather belted harness. It had been a gift from a lover she’d met in Limsa Lominsa, not long after beginning her studies at the guild. A Xaela woman with eyes like jungles and a smile like dragonfire. They had gone their separate ways on amicable terms and she’d been told to keep it “as a parting gift.”

She’d never told anyone about it, had only revealed its existence to G’raha one evening with much persuasion, mainly in the form of his tongue at the crux of her thighs. Compelling as he was, she was powerless to his questions, each one punctuated with an ardent kiss to her flesh. Where did she keep it? In her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Did she ever use it? Occasionally, on nights when her hand was simply not enough. Would she bring it with her when she next returned from the Source? She would have felt bashful if his blush had not been dark enough to rival her own, and when she nodded he’d dragged her under a tide of sensation powerful enough to drown her.

And so when Artemesia next visits the Source, she pays a visit to her humble Glade cottage to fetch the requested item, minding well to pack it discreetly with her other belongings. She returns through the glimmering portal to find her Exarch cheerfully waiting to greet her. He grants her a warm, lingering kiss and before she pulls away she murmurs sweetly to him.

“I have something for you.”

It is not uncommon for her to bring him gifts from their homeland, but she can tell by the sudden heat in his gaze that he knows exactly what she is alluding to. His ears perk to attention at the top of his head, tail flickering in interest against her leg.

“Oh?”

“Are you terribly busy?” She tilts her head to the side, a teasing smirk playing at her face. “I can always come back later, if you’ve matters you need to attend to.” She turns away in jest, as if to make for the door. Quick crystal fingers catch her wrist and she is reeled back into his arms. G’raha gives her a playful smile.

“I might have a few moments to spare.”

Artemesia laughs through her nose as he seals her lips against his own. He licks his way into her mouth, tongue catching lightly against the edges of her sharp teeth. She tastes him in kind, eyes fluttering to a close against the still, blue light of the Ocular.

G’raha slowly leads her through to the Umbilicus, closer and closer to the simple cot against the wall. He deftly sheds her travel clothes as they move, littering the ground with them in a conspicuous trail. She sucks hard, biting kisses against his neck and basks in the delicious little sounds trickling past his lips. The backs of his knees make contact with the bed and she lowers him to sit at the edge. By now he has peeled away all but her breast band and silken small clothes. Fingers gently trailing up her spine mean to make quick work of them as she fumbles to rummage through her pack.

“Miss me?” She chuckles, breathless. He answers with an affirmative hum against her collarbone. With that, the thin fabric slithers undone, falling away from her body to land unceremoniously at their feet. An eager mouth finds a soft nipple and coaxes it to a peak with tender lips and tongue. Artemesia sighs. Her head falls back, hands abandoning the bag to tangle themselves in his hair. She pulls it loose from his braid so that it tumbles around his chin and shoulders, silky russet frosted with silver. She holds him against her breast as he stokes the fire slowly growing in the pit of her belly.

G’raha draws away from her momentarily. “You said there was aught you wished to show me?” he says, cheeky. Her breath leaves her in rapid pants. She narrows her eyes at him.

“I could say someone is doing his best to _ distract _ me.”

“Please, my love,” he says, voice saccharine, “leave me no longer in the grip of suspense.”

Artemesia scoffs. She takes up her bag to start her search anew. Ruby eyes flicker up to hers in a flash of heat, and that is the only warning she is given before fingers slide past the waistband of her smalls. Her hands tremble amidst her belongings.

“_Not _fair.”

She finds what she’s looking for, at long last, wrapped in a scarf near the bottom of the pack. The bag falls to the wayside and she crawls into his lap. G’raha lavishes her face in fluttering kisses, fingers gently tilting her face from side to side, making certain to leave no ilm of her unattended to. The gesture is so sweet, so romantic that she almost regrets pressing him down to lie back against the mattress. He looks up at her with a misty, syrupy smile that she reciprocates before she can even catch herself.

“What is it?” she asks him.

“I am simply—” He pauses, chest swelling with an emotional draw of breath. “Simply _ happy _ to see you again.”

She cannot help but lean down to kiss him again. For several moments, her gift lies forgotten in the worn blankets of his bed as she loses herself in this impossible, beautiful man. He touches her reverently, the crystal of his hand skating coolly over the naked skin of her back. She does her best to tuck herself against the beating of his heart, by now familiar and precious as that of her own, and as she breathes in the smell of him, the comforting rush of his aether, she feels _ whole. _

“I missed you,” Artemesia says, voice whisper soft. The weight of the words carries with it a much deeper meaning. An ache that had plagued her long before her brief return to the Source, before she’d ever stepped foot in the First. It still baffles her that he is here, in her arms, warm and breathing and _ awake. _

“And I you.” He combs his fingers through the pale curtain of her hair. Tucks it over one shoulder so that he might plant his lips under the tapered line of her jaw.

Artemesia draws herself up. The small, disappointed noise is not lost on her when she leans away to straddle his hips. His hands reach for her, mean to pull her close again, but she gently takes him by the wrists to guide them up over his head. Her eyes flash to his, a wordless instruction. _ Stay_. G’raha gazes at her, his lungs suddenly still as he watches. Waits.

She pulls apart the convoluted robe, undoing the gilded clasps and catches with a dedicated thoroughness that makes him squirm. The line of his throat bobs as he swallows. She itches to lean down, score his skin with her teeth in the way she knows he _ loves, _ but holds herself back. Keeps her touches feather light against the fabric of his clothes. It all but undoes him. G’raha fights to keep his hands where she’d left them, knuckles bone white as they clutch at his pillowcase.

An age later, she has divested him to her liking. The layers of his robes lie blanketed underneath him like the discarded wrappings of a thoughtful gift. Artemesia eyes the glittering crystal that covers the right side of his chest, the stuttered rise and fall of his breast. Her thumb sweeps over a pebbled nipple and the subsequent whine it earns her travels straight to the pit of her belly. She does it again. G’raha’s hips shift below her, desperate. She _ relishes _ it.

“My Raha,” she murmurs to him. His chin tilts up towards her, bloody eyes glued to her lips. A charming blush glows at his cheeks, threatening to spread down his throat, past his collarbones. Jealously, she wonders what the people of the Cyrstarium would think if they knew just how far down their precious Exarch’s blush truly traveled.

She bends her head down to drag her lips over gleaming blue crystal, down over warm skin. Her teeth scrape none too gently over the same nipple she’d found before and G’raha’s spine arches up into her mouth. He moves, reaching to cradle the back of her skull but before he can reach her she snatches it back. When Artemesia’s eyes meet his they are wide, black moons. He returns his hand to its spot above his head, obedient. She hums in approval and he _ shudders_.

Her mouth descends his abdomen as she moves down his body. Muscles flutter against her tickling breath. She licks a hot line through the trail of hair below his navel, savors his answering hiccup of breath. Her hands tug the black shorts down muscled thighs just enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock. She smiles to herself. Tongues generously at the flared tip of him.

G’raha mewls. It is music to her ears, bent low as they are in satisfaction. She does it again, makes him sob with each kittenish lick of her tongue. His silver-tipped tail thrashes against the bed sheets. She could spend _ hours _ like this, delivering the barest of touches in exchange for the delicious sounds that tumble past his lips.

“Artemesia,” he gasps, “love, _ please_.”

The thread of unabashed need laced through the words thrills her. She sits back in her heels to finally pull the shorts down over his knees. They land on the floor at the side of the bed and she takes in the gratifying sight of him, stretched trembling and wanting before her. And oh, but he is _ pretty_. Pretty burnished hair curling into his pretty ruby eyes and trailing over his pretty, crystal-gorgeted throat. The pretty, delicate point of pearly teeth digging into a pretty, plush bottom lip. The pretty shiver through his torso that rolls through his body till her gaze falls upon his slender, pretty cock. He is especially pretty when he _ begged_.

She teases the edge of her nail under his glans. “Please?” she asks, feigning ignorance. As though she hasn’t spent the better part of an hour tormenting this sweet man.

“I… oh _ gods.” _ G’raha throws his head back against the pillow. The high, ragged gasps for air make her blood sing. “To think… Hydaelyn’s benevolent daughter… capable of such cruelty— _ ah!” _

Artemesia sinks her teeth into the tender meat of his thigh hard enough to leave behind a jagged half-circle of pinprick marks. He groans low in his throat.

It is then she remembers the toy, still bundled in her favorite scarf. She unwraps it, tosses the scarf aside. Holds the glass shaft up so G’raha might catch a glimpse of it. The narrow pupils of his scarlet eyes dilate a fraction, so subtle she almost misses it. She does _ not _miss the flash of glistening, pink tongue that darts into view to wet his lips. It sends a shiver up her spine.

It had been easy to get to this point. Calculated touches meant to drive him mad, familiar adoration and love blooming precious in her chest, it was all comfortable to her. This was not. This was uncharted territory for her, and the self-assured ardor with which she touched him was starting to flag. G’raha Tia had taken a man to bed before. He knew how this was meant to work. And while she knew in _ theory _ how this worked, she lacked the actual experience behind it. It made her apprehensive.

“Darling,” he calls to her. She meets his gaze, wondering exactly how much of her thoughts her face conveyed. He still pants for breath, lips yet slick and parted red, but his eyes are genuine in their question. “Is something amiss?”

“I’m not…” She pauses. Her fingers clutch at the glass in her hands in an attempt to ground herself to something material. “I have not done this before, G’raha.”

The line of his mouth softens. A wave of affection crests up through her chest, into her throat and over the back of her tongue. He sits up and skates his fingertips over her chin. “If you are hesitant, we need not continue. We can revisit it at another time, or forget the matter entirely if you prefer. I am perfectly happy to—”

“No, no.” She shakes her head. “I _ want _ to. Truly. But, G’raha, the last thing I want is to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he says easily, kisses the tip of her nose. She is appreciative of his confidence in her but it does little to assuage the anxieties fluttering like moths in her belly.

“In all seriousness. If you are uncomfortable, if I do… hurt you… you will tell me?”

“I will.” He smiles at the corner of her mouth. “I _ trust _ you, Artemesia. Pray, trust me in kind.”

She nods. She does trust him, utterly, and her trust is not easily given. “You will guide me? Tell me what feels good? How to please you?”

G’raha chuckles and kisses her again, ears swaying playfully. “Oh, I dare say that I shall. Though you should know,” he plucks idly at her small clothes, thumbs hooking into the silk, “_ everything _ about you pleases me.”

She takes the hint and lifts herself so that he might drag them past her hips, over her thighs and down her calves. He helps her into the soft leather of the belted harness, hands sure and gentle against her own as they navigate the buckles and clasps so that it fits snug around her.

“It suits you,” he teases. Artemesia rolls her eyes. She tosses him back against the bed and does not miss the cheeky smile on his lips as he lands with a small _ ‘oof.’ _ She grabs for the toy.

“Let us hope it suits _ you_.” 

G’raha hums as he watches the glass in her fingers. It practically glows blue in the Tower’s pearlescent light. Appropriate. She carefully fastens it into place, reaches for the small phial of neutral oil she’d thought to bring. Her hands shake so that she nearly drops it onto his chest. It is slippery on her skin, more so against the glass as she diligently coats it from root to tip, and when she lines her hips up against the part of G’raha’s spread legs, she freezes.

He takes pity on her. His hands pull at her shoulders so that she lands on him, chest to chest and nose level to her own. He holds her face in his hands, kisses his way across her left cheek.

“Slowly,” he whispers.

She will _ never _forget the sound that catches in his throat as her hips inch forward into his body, not for as long as she lives. It is strangled and desperate as it claws its way past his teeth. Every one of his muscles trembles against her. She panics, stills the lurch of her body into his.

“Should I stop?” she asks and he clutches at her, fingers digging into her back.

_ “No,” _ he grounds out, eyes clenched closed. “No, _ please_.”

Artemesia resumes the curl of her spine. She closely monitors the tense line of G’raha’s brow, the trembling lash of his tail against the mattress. At long last, her hips lie flush against his own. She sweeps her still oil-slick fingers over the hot line of his cock at her belly and his eyes open. He kisses her then, all teeth and tongue and heat. It takes her breath away.

“Artemesia,” he groans into her mouth. She keens in answer, dazed in the wake of his lips. “You can move. Please, by the light of the Twelve, _ please _ move.”

She drags her hips back, achingly slow, pitches them forward. G’raha’s head falls back, eyelashes fluttering to a close. His jaw hangs open in a wordless cry. She watches his face, mesmerized at every minute fluctuation in his expression. He _ shakes _ below her, enraptured and unsettlingly beautiful.

The friction the harness provides against her sex is sweet. Each shift of her hips, every pitch of her skin against his sparks white-hot and fleeting up the length of her spine. It would not be enough to bring her to release, but it is incentive enough, as well as the pleasure she can _ hear _ flickering through G’raha’s nerves, to keep moving. Eventually she brings herself up to sit back on her heels, both to alleviate the ache growing in the small of her back and to afford herself more of that delicious contact.

G’raha lets her go, the hands that had clutched her close moving to tangle in the bedsheets. Artemesia smooths her palm down the smooth flesh of his thigh, careful over the bruising bite she’d left there before. She starts to grow comfortable in her movements, the back and forth sway of her pelvis. Her fingers navigates the bend of his knee to grip underneath, lift his leg and give herself more space and dares to sink herself deeper on the next thrust.

_ “Ah!” _

At once, every muscle in G’raha’s body goes _ rigid_. His eyes fly open to meet hers, the Allagan red lost in the tension that grips him. It raises every fine hair on her body. Her hips stutter to a stop.

“No, _ please,” _ he whines, and she resumes the motion. He moans. Crystal fingers curl in his hair, twisting against his scalp. “There again, please, love, oh, _ gods…” _

Each drag of her body, every inch of the glass cock inside him brings forth a new sound from the fount of G’raha’s lips. Artemesia’s ears pitch forward and she basks in the music as finally, G’raha Tia begins to _ sing _ for her. His cries echo off the walls of the Tower as if they lie under the vaulted, hallowed ceilings of an azure cathedral. She wonders if he even realizes the din that spills from his lips and selfishly she hopes he does not. His unwitting performance captivates her, from the writhing of his body to flush that threatens to dip down past his navel. She wants to commit it all to memory, carry it with her for lonely nights spent on the road, for the cold, wide expanse of her bed back on the Source.

His toes curl against her calves. She can tell he is close, but not quite_ how _ close. Not until she gently brushes the pad of her thumb over the slit of his cock, only the barest hint of contact, and G’raha _ wails_. He comes suddenly, nigh untouched and entirely unraveled, before her very eyes. Artemesia continues to fuck him, as best she can, but the sight nearly stuns her to stillness. She can feel the blush crawling up her own face as he shudders beneath her, seed striping up his belly, up his chest, some even falling sticky at his throat.

When it all becomes too much he grips at the bend of her elbow, his other hand reaching up to cover his face as he pants. Broken, exhausted moans puff past his lips with every labored breath that escapes his chest. Artemesia composes herself enough to slowly, gently withdraw from his body, her fingers rubbing soothing circles into the jut of his hip bone. G’raha yelps as the toy leaves him and it tugs at her heart.

She shimmies herself out of the harness. Crawls up over his body to gently lick his torso clean, lapping up the trails of spend that decorate his abdominal muscles, his heaving chest, even the splash over the crystal-speckled skin at his throat. He ducks his head to kiss her, groaning at the taste of his come in her mouth. His tongue delves past her teeth, sliding hotly against her own. He clings to her as he shakes in the aftermath of his peak and she curls close around him.

“Raha.” His answer is a wordless vocalization that hums through her bones, even as he nestles his face into the crook of her neck. She pets at his hair, kisses the flickering fold of his ear. “Are you all right?”

He actually _ laughs _ at that, breath puffing humid against her damp skin. She flicks at his ear and he jolts against her. “Yes,” he answers, mirthful. “I believe I am. And you?” he asks. “Feeling less apprehensive, I hope?”

“Some.”

“Ah.”

Artemesia would have been happy to lie this way for the rest of the afternoon, wrapped around G’raha like a covetous sea creature, but it appears he has other ideas. A minute passes by, perhaps two, before he shifts underneath her. He pushes her so she sits up, and all she manages is a furrowed brow, a bleary “Wha—” before he _ lifts _ her by her waist. She squeals. She really should not be shocked by the wiry strength that yet coils hidden in his slight body. She has felt every compact, solid muscle of him herself, spent hours of her time mapping them out with touch and taste. And yet, every time he takes it upon himself to remind her it never fails to make her legs _ weak_.

He settles her upon his chest, her knees framing his face. She has half a mind to ask just what it is he means to do, but the tongue that delves between her thighs seems answer enough. An arm stretches itself, glittering and iridescent, up her torso so that he might cup at one of her breasts. Fingertips tease and pinch at a peaked nipple.

“Ra_ha_,” she squeaks. Her hands scrabble for some form of purchase. Her right braces against the cool crystal wall while her left tangles itself in the silky mop of his hair and she hangs on for dear life.

Between the friction of the harness and the spectacle G’raha had made of himself during the whole ordeal, she was wickedly close. All it takes is a few strokes of a clever tongue, the devastating pluck of fingers at her like a love-worn harp, and she is quick to shake apart above him. He persists, even after she is spent and shivering, and it makes her whimper. When it all threatens to drive her mad she pulls herself away, peels his hand from her skin to intertwine his fingers with her own. He grins up at her from between of her thighs and slowly, filthily licks his lips.

They settle into the small bed, sheets reeking of sweat and sex. Artemesia rests her ear over his heart. G’raha’s fingers card tenderly through the mussed length of her hair in an attempt to smooth it down. He hums as he does it. A lofty, cheerful tune that rings against the crystal of the room as sweetly as his cries had. Her eyes grow heavy as she listens, lids sinking lower and lower until they close.

They fly open at the sound of groaning wood underneath them.

The cot collapses to the ground with an unceremonious _ crack_. She yelps as they hit the ground. G’raha’s fingers tighten almost painfully in her hair. They sit in shocked silence as the proverbial dust settles around them.

“Well.” Artemesia cranes her neck over G’raha’s hip to have a look at the damage. “It seems as though you will finally have to put in a requisition with the Cyrstalline Mean and have an _ honest _ bed made.”

Teeth nip at the velveteen length of her ear. She smirks to herself even as it makes her jump.

“Not another word.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com).


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